Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
12 November, 1936 to 17 November, 1936



Tuesday 12th November, 1936

Two weeks of living outdoors has been certainly an interesting experience. Some of us have quite taken to the idea; certainly Irma Bundt and Susan de Ruiz say they are very happy with swapping the comfort of a bed for two extra hours sleep a night. That is the advantage; one cannot study textbooks inside a sleeping sac and the nights are getting decidedly long. Another six weeks till Solstice! Helen is looking forward to renewing her Tailfast locket.

    I must confess I hardly dared ask Saimmi last time if I now qualified – I had the excuse of Adele being there to see to, but that was hardly a good excuse. I can hardly bear the thought of Saimmi saying “No” again even though she has not said anything about the issue recently. Then, I have not explicitly asked. Not being Tailfast does not mean Jirry and I cannot wed on Casino Island, but I want to do things properly.  I am sure the Reverend Bingham would be pleased to see me back again; it is quite awhile since I attended his church.

    Out today in definitely choppy waters for my sailing classes. The seas are quite empty this time of year with no tour-boat or pearl fishing traffic, and only the regular runs of freighters breaking the horizon. We noticed some of the Rain Island Naval flying boats scouring the area to the North, but thought little of it as handling the sails in gusting winds took all our concentration.
 
    Just when we were three hours out and almost in sight of Orpington Island, we saw something very strange on the horizon furthest from the shipping lanes. There had been aircraft flying around but too far off to identify; one of them dived steeply and at about five thousand feet started trailing a thin plume of smoke. I was about to shout an alarm, not that there would be much point in looking for survivors with the speed that aircraft looked like hitting the water. But just as I opened my muzzle the distant dot pulled out just above the sea and two seconds later the plume of smoke detached and leaped ahead of it in a thin grey line that was soon lost on the horizon. The aircraft gradually gained height and flew off.

    Had it been Helen with me (a small boat in choppy waters being the last place she ever wants to be) I would have pointed out what I had seen. With Madeleine X, I was certainly not going to let on. There is a definite dividing line between students who are taken on certain adventures on Spontoon and those who are not, and Madeleine is definitely a “not.” After three years we have had our opinions and deeds weighed pretty thoroughly, I think. Our Tutors may be 'Euros' on paper, but they are as trusted as any Euro we have met, considering the directions they point some of their students in.

    It was not till I was in the cabin snatching two hours precious sleep in a bed on the way back that I guessed what I had seen. It might have been a rocket had it been “switched on” the second it broke free from the aircraft – but it was switched on in a high-speed dive and was burning while its parent aircraft presumably settled down and lined up on a target. I read every issue of “Jane’s Aviation Weekly” and all the other aviation journals Songmark subscribes to, and know of only one thing that would fit. We saw that Leduck engine the S.I.T.H.S. were testing last year, and it looks as if it is in live firing trials now. Not something I will be telling Madeleine!

    I know it takes years to get any really radical new invention into squadron service in peacetime; I saw the first Leduck engines flying nearly two years ago, launched using that old gunpowder cannon by the S.I.T.H.S. That school has some very interesting classes, and I will quietly ask Meera about their “Goddard Club.” Then, the fact they are manifestly a school project is excellent camouflage; spies such as Soppy Forsythe are attracted like flies to secret Government installations in the jungle but might walk right past a team of high school students and their class project. It looks as if the prototypes are now in actual test with air launches. Just what is the bicycle factory making at night, when they switch over production with a very different set of manufacturing jigs?

    Despite actually having more sleep in the field than we usually do in the dorms, I was out like a light the minute my head-fur touched the pillow, and only woke up when we got back to Eastern Island. One quite understands how every soldier and sailor one sees on a train is fast asleep; it is a talent we are picking up that may prove very useful in the long-term (just as long as we do not apply it to the classrooms.)

    Back for more flying in the Junkers 86: I was very happy to be Adele’s co-pilot as she has a natural flair I can only envy. This time, I was under the strain of my regular flying duties as well as running the rituals Saimmi taught me; it is like concentrating on taking someone’s pulse while doing difficult algebra at the same time. I managed to get one very clear reading though; when Adele loses contact with the earth her bad luck stops, as rapidly as switching off a light. When she lands again – back it comes. In more ways than one she has a pair of unlucky rabbit’s feet.

    It was a splendidly bright afternoon for November, with rain-washed air and visibility right out to Orpington in one direction and Albert Island the other – those two are easily a hundred and twenty miles apart. But the view downwards was something that suddenly became rather urgent, as I grabbed the plate camera and called to Miss Windlesham to look – entering through the channel between Main and South Island, two long shark-like shapes clearly visible though several fathoms underwater. Submarines!

    Although the R.I.N.S. regularly has a submarine visiting at Moon Island their policy is to sail in on the surface with flags flying, unless they are on exercises. All scheduled exercises tend to be known to our Tutors, so we can stay out of their way. Miss Windlesham was on the radio straight away, and had Adele circle us over the area until we had to come in to refuel.

    I had expected to see the Moon Island base spring to life with a squadron of Osprey patrol aircraft in the air within minutes; they look impossibly stubby but they do carry depth charges as well as their recoilless cannon. Although I heard the base acknowledge our Tutor’s report I could see no patrol boats or aircraft urgently heading out, so possibly the new arrivals were not unexpected.

    An hour later, we had landed and been debriefed when a very exuberant Madeleine X bounced in with her tail wagging like a pup. She reports there are two big French submarines showing the flag just off Moon Island, with an official delegation hoisting the tricolour flag and the band striking up the “Marseilles.” They are the latest model with a pair of giant 20 cm cannon* , she says – the “Surcouf” class of which they have fifty hulls laid out under construction and half a dozen already on trials following the launch of the first in 1929. Apart from their guns being more accurate than torpedoes, these submarines can surface suddenly a mile from land, put twenty shells into a dockyard or oil refinery then vanish before anyone has a chance to act. Their spotter aircraft can even look over buildings and headlands at targets invisible from sea level; one can certainly see the advantages.

    It is not that far from the French Sandwich Isles, but it is the first time we have seen the French here in force. I know they have a giant submarine base underwater at Clipperton Island right on the trade route, but they rarely visit this part of the Nimitz Sea. After all, though Malaya is vital for tin and rubber to us and the Dutch East Indies provide the Dutch Empire with all its oil and much of the money, France is not going to be brought to her knees if anyone seizes Tahiti. Still, visiting fleets show the flag where they feel like it and it may be that Spontoon was just due for a visit.

    When she heard about the fast firing 20 cm cannon the submarines carry, Molly flushed to the ear-tips, her tail locked sideways and she excused herself for ten minutes. It was bad enough last year with the defence exercises and the anti-aircraft guns; I felt like whispering to Madeleine that if the crew came ashore with Molly around they should remember not to leave the keys in the ignition. It would be far too much of a temptation. The mariner the submarines were named after, Robert Surcouf, was a pirate after all.

* Editor’s note: 203 mm, actually. If Molly had kept a diary it would read more like the technical log of a firing range, but occasionally featuring more stags of ill repute.


Thursday 14th November, 1936

Hurrah! One of the things about fleets showing the flag is they entertain notables. Spontoon being a small place with not so many dignitaries, they all got shown around on the first day and the Althing must have made some sort of deal with the Flag Captain to let other interested parties aboard. The S.I.T.H.S. had two classes of their best shown around, and at breakfast Miss Devinski announced that our highest ranking dorm of each year could take the tour after lunch!

    There was a stampede to check the latest rankings on the notice board; generally we only keep track when there is a definite reward to be had. My ears drooped when I noticed we were currently running third; Jasbir gets the ticket and Prudence and co. are a point ahead of us (usually it is the other way round.) As to the second year – I could hardly believe it when I saw Red Dorm are current leaders! When we usually think of them as “capable of anything” we imagine bank raids and the like.  The first-year winners I do not really know, except for that shrew who Saimmi says is from Cranium Island and needs careful watching. The only first-year dorm who have earned a name for themselves so far are sarcastically called “Crusader Dorm”, led by Nancy Rote with Eva, Maureen and Svetlana. It seems Miss Rote fancies herself a sleuth.

    I had to break the news to Molly, who was resigned to the fact she would probably not get invited to order “ten rounds per gun rapid fire” even had we been ahead on points. Thinking of which, although our Tutors are generally reticent until a section of the course is over how and why we are marked down – I asked Miss Devinski if she thought Molly and Maria digging in for shelter was officially cheating. After looking at me thoroughly for half a minute, she simply said “yes.”

    It is always hard at Songmark to know just how far the rules will go – on the beach exercise the first night we had been told to shelter any way we can, which was not our instructions when we were sent to inhabit the Northern coast. Considering that in Jasbir’s dorm Irma Bundt is doing the same and they are still in the lead, they must have a depressingly large total score. I did not ask if my current misadventures have pulled us down, but Miss Devinski does occasionally address me as Lady Allworthy. I think she is being ironic.
    
We were helping the first-years again this morning, starting off with the unenviable job of being rescued by them. That is, we trouped down to the docks by Superior Engineering which is quiet this time of year, dressed in our oldest overalls and took turns to dive into the jolly cold water. There would follow a cry of “Fur Overboard!” and a first-year would dive in afterwards and drag us to shore. Having tried it myself, this is not as easy as the films suggest. It was good luck for a change that I was rescued by Jessica, the only water-bird in the year. As one might expect, her “swan-dive” was textbook perfect and she hauled my limp form up onto the beach in a creditable time.

    Poor Adele almost drowned – the hefty canine girl sent into rescue her slipped on the takeoff, fell short and landed on top of her! Luckily Sophie D’artagnan was there a few seconds later, as Adele was knocked out and breathed some of the Nimitz Sea before she was hauled up to the beach and was carried off to Mrs. Oelabe at the staff bungalow. Definitely I will have to see what I can do for her at the weekend.

    (Later) It is a pity indeed we missed the submarine tour, from what Jasbir says it was very impressive. More fun than Adele’s underwater trip, to be sure. Madeleine X is naturally fuming at having missed the chance to meet some “civilised furs” – any deckhand from the slums of Monmartre being well ahead of us in culture, according to her. She squarely blames Adele for letting the side down. Actually it might be a good thing Adele was left off the trip – her curse manifests itself on water as well as land. She is not at all clumsy, and would not accidentally blow the ballast or anything like that – more probably she would switch on a light that through a bizarre design flaw and a hideously unlikely maintenance error had been connected to the scuttling charges.

    Memo to myself; do not dig up any Red Indian grave mounds for profit, even if the tribe who built it is supposedly extinct. You never know what hundred-year-old shaman has been adopted by the tribe next door as last of the line, and has a curse he always wanted to experiment with given the right target.

    Jasbir has one of those buttonhole cameras that she managed to sneak onboard, and half an hour later was passing round some holiday snaps that the newspapers would love to have (but they won’t get them. She is not Beryl, and destroyed the negatives.) The Surcouf’s own spotter aircraft was unfolded and flying all day much to the delight of the crowds. None of us were invited to fly it, which is a shame – that would be an entry in the logbook few people could match!


Friday 15th November, 1936

Another damp day, with the French slipping their anchorage after breakfast and heading out past us through the Northern channel surfaced to clear the sand bars and shallows. Our Tutors pulled us in and gave us an assignment to write, about what the fifty Surcouf class boats could do in the Pacific. Oddly enough submarines are boats to their crew, which any other class of naval ship would find highly insulting. I was not the only one to spot she did not say boats exactly the same, but of the same basic model. Then, the Royal Navy has the wildly successful “M Class” subs in their hundreds in both the original Surcouf-type twelve inch gun form (the French cribbed the idea from us) and converted to aircraft carriers. Adding a mine-layer type and a troop-ship variant of the same hull to launch sixty raiders ashore some dark night would surely be easy enough, and rather hard to counter. There is cargo accommodation for forty prisoners on the existing model, after all. One imagines Vostok or somewhere doing it with saboteurs and publicly denying it.

    Anyway, it is hard to be alarmist. That is to say, having seen what is already in these waters, the threat is alarming enough and exceedingly real! We have not seen the big Japanese aircraft-carrying subs around here, but they are in the books and Rumiko has told us much about them as her Father designed one of the special folding interceptors they carry.

    Rumiko is a definitely strange girl, being exceedingly Japanese except the rest of the Japanese do not admit it. Her family were outside the home islands in the seventeenth century when Japan cut itself off almost totally from the rest of the world – merchants and such citizens living overseas at the time were not allowed to return for fear of cultural infection. Her family have an estate on Okinawa, and have a purely Japanese lineage to be proud of (they only ever married other exiled pedigree families.) She is the last of her line and carries the family swords which were generations old when Japan cut itself off; female Samurai were one thing that vanished after her family started exile, and they kept to the original tradition. It is very strange to have a country that can neither accept nor deny your claims to be a Citizen. I am starting to feel the same way myself.

    Our Tutors have started the careers part of the course with us in earnest; they have been dropping hints since Spring and now we have to work seriously on the problem. Helen and me cannot just wave our tails airily and say we are going to sow taro plants and raise kittens on South Island for the Hoele’toemi family. There is a lot to being an independent Adventuress; raising funds, keeping them, running ventures at a profit – many starting firms have put all their money into a shiny new aircraft that then crashes uninsured and takes all their hopes with it.
 
    I am sure a lot of what our Tutors are teaching is from bitter experience; certainly the next lesson we learn after raising the money is dealing with people intent on taking it off you. The original Song Airways folded when the only male in the team flew off with his secretary and all the portable assets, almost wiping out Songmark before it had even started. Mrs. Hoele’toemi remembers the scandal and says his name was Irving; not a name our Tutors have ever spoken.

    Thinking about it, that disaster may have influenced the school in more ways than one. From what Huakava told us the last time we ever met, the Songmark site is particularly suited to lady Adventuresses – and all our active Tutors are unmarried. Our Miss Pelton resigned when she became Mrs. Voboele. Mind you, she has other things to do now with one child to look after and another due in Spring; she could hardly be expected to be running round after us all day the way Miss Wildford does. What else our dear Tutors do in their free time is nobody’s business, but it does look more respectable on the prospectus that they are single and can devote all their time to looking after us. I have recently heard more about Miss Wildford before she joined Songmark, and if half of it is true she could star in her own pulp adventure magazine! Some of it would have to be printed on Spontoon, and post offices of various nations would not let it through customs.

    We had a new experience of our own today, teaching the first-years some basic self-defence. This makes sense in that it is one against one (more unequal struggles will happen later) and saves having to look for twenty equally qualified instructors. The Songmark course certainly evolves over the years, and this is the first teaching we have done as opposed to guarding and shepherding. As ever, we can see how our Tutors are dedicated to getting the best course for us given the money; many of us have plans to teach what we know when we return home, rather than use it all on personal careers.

    Missy K was grumbling that it is making a rod for our own backs, making it harder for us when we have to track down and bring in erring students. Helen pointed out that strictly speaking we get sent after second-years, unless the second-years fail to find a junior. That has not happened in awhile. The prospect of helping first-years put a few more bumps and bruises on Red Dorm and all in the line of duty, was a great encouragement to us all. Helen is a model of common-sense; she has what the pulp magazines call “street smarts” and never finds herself in the sort of situations I do. On the other paw, not having had my education she has a rather lesser veneration for Doing The Right Thing. These two facts may be related.

    Although it is listed prominently on the prospectus, it comes as something of a shock for some of our new arrivals to find themselves remorselessly pinned down while they find out what a tail hitch and triple hammerlock feels like (jolly uncomfortable, to be sure.) This could do unfit people some real injury in terms of muscle strains and such, which is why this year they have the first month dedicated to fitness training before any serious self-defence lessons take place. I was allotted Svetlana, just my luck! She is an inherently powerful wolverine and a trained ballerina, and it was like trying to pin down a conger eel. When she wriggled free the first time she laughed and admitted that on Vostok they train all Citizens of good family in the militia even at school, and I would have to try harder. A “Double Nelson” hold knocked the smile off her muzzle though, and she admitted she still had much to learn that they did not teach her in Tsarogorod.

    Svetlana is certainly a dangerous girl. The month after we left Vostok she saved the Grand Duchess’ life from two Bolshevik assassins (whether local Mensheviks or infiltrating Starlingists, nobody discovered.) They were both armed, and she was not – the newspaper accounts say she hit one so hard she broke her arm and knocked him off the roof before he could throw the bomb at the parade, then disposed of the other “by time-honoured means.” I am not quite sure what that means, but Svetlana has a disturbingly large set of teeth and wolverines have a reputation that way. Anyway, the Grand Duchess waved her wand (well, her cheque book) and granted Svetlana’s wish to go to Songmark. Who says dreams don’t come true these days?

    Today’s lessons were quite fun in all, though there were quite a few minor injuries with bumps and bruises. The day finished up with us all escorting the first-years to Main Island to watch a fine Native wrestling match which was greatly enjoyed by all. If there is an equivalent dorm to Prudence’s in the first years, I have not noticed it. One surprise was seeing Beryl’s friend Piet Van Hoogstraaten competing in the lightweight class of Samoan wrestling; for a rat he is certainly impressive. With the sort of costumes they wear, it is very plain just what Beryl sees in him. I suppose it is decent training for his rowing team on days like today when the waters are definitely too rough for those racing skiffs to stay afloat.

    Another advantage of Main Village is the public baths; after our exertions on the self-defence mats (and for many of us, our musk glands responding to watching the wrestlers) it was a great relief to hear we were allowed an hour to soak. Bliss! The last time I soaked in anything larger than the single narrow Songmark bathtub was in the Shepherd’s Hotel with Molly and Lars after hunting down those slavers. Happily this time the water was not turning pink around us with blood as we picked out glass splinters, but this time we did not enter the building through a broken window.  Molly is eager to repeat that experience provided of course she gets to repeat all of it including the next morning with Lars. Then again, there are things Molly likes that way and I do not – I do not mind in the slightest being called an old-fashioned girl.

    All good things come to an end, and all too soon it was time to shepherd the first-years out. Nothing ever goes smoothly though – Prudence’s dorm were enjoying the view as one might expect (anything more with a junior is absolutely Not Done)  when that sleuth girl Nancy Rote pointed at Belle and announced she recognised her from before term started, pretending to be a Spontoonie with a tourist. Miss Rote seemed quite irate at being fooled. Today of course she could see enough of Belle’s fur pattern to confirm her suspicions.

    I have had quiet words with Belle about that deception before; for two summers in a row she has kept company with a “school ma’m” from her own state in the Bible Belt while being quite convincing as a Native in her dress and speech, between long overnight trips “guiding” her. Not that there is anything wrong with us wearing Native costume, and I have played “fool the tourist” often enough myself – but I do not extend the joke to being pen-pals with them all year round. If she likes her friend that much she should be honest with her.

    Belle replied smoothly that she really is a Spontoonie legally right now, like the rest of us, and has never lied as she has never been exactly asked where she was born – any tourist looking at a girl wearing a grass skirt and oiled fur tends to jump to conclusions. Belle then winked, and commented that she may be unconventional but she is not the first Songmark girl to be married to a fellow classmate – she commended Nancy for setting the precedent.

    Quite a few jaws dropped at that little bombshell. Looking closely I had noticed Miss Rote does wear a ring, but it is not the traditional gold and I had not thought much about it. It is strange though, in that the rest of us are not allowed jewellery in term-time; we spend a lot of time handling mooring-ropes and such, and have been shown awful photographs showing how rings can catch in runaway ropes and rip one’s finger clean off. Or rather, very messily off. A rapid survey of the other first-years found a matching one on the ring finger of that Cranium Island shrew who is in another dorm. She looked slightly embarrassed but rather proud of herself when the rest of her year noticed the fact.

    Well, that’s one for the books as they say. I know Wo Shin is married, but her husband is rather more conventional, although not her species – and Missy K has been Tailfast since before starting Songmark, with an agreed two-month notice to defer a year if any family complications ensued courtesy of her fiancé. At least that is one thing that Miss, or I should say neither of the Mrs. Rotes will need to worry about. Mind you, I would not bet too much against it considering one of them IS from Cranium Island …

   
Saturday 16th November, 1936

A clear day for November, and getting decidedly chilly. Next week we will start out on even cooler climes – though not before we make a cooler climb, for a few days perched up on top of Mount Kiribatori. It is the only place in Spontoon that ever sees frost, by all accounts. Then, it is ten thousand feet high. There is snow on top of Hawaii, which is further South than us and I know mountains on the Equator have glaciers if they are tall enough. A useful subject is Geography; without it one might not be able to recognise an isthmus if one needed one in a hurry, or even be able to decide if you are a Euro or a Native. A pressing concern to me, these days.

    Some of my year take a run around the coast road first thing to get the warmth back again after the long nights; we join Jasbir’s dorm in half an hour of fast hula. A folding gramophone is not illegal under our current rules; they were carried to enliven the tedium of trench dugouts in the Great War after all. Something by the SponTones is always welcome; one can hula to that or dance it as modern swing as the mood dictates. It loosens stiff muscles and such ready for the more compulsory exercises later on, and gets us in a mood to tackle whatever they give us for breakfast. I dream of kippers, bacon and eggs, though to be honest the breadfruit mash is very warming and we swallow it so fast it hardly hits the sides on the way down.
 
    Several dorms of the first-years were asking us yesterday what it took to be a really successful Adventuress. According to the films, the key is being able to handle a rough-house, speak any language needed  and control any sort of vehicle on land, sea and air. There is some truth in that; one of the actually useful hints in Beryl’s mostly fraudulent pre-term “Songmark guide” listed such Saint T’s inspired  gems as always hitting people with metal chairs if available, not wooden ones that do less damage. Charming, I must say. The most useful things I can recommend them is to keep supremely fit, eat anything remotely edible without complaint, and remember that most of the time, other people are one’s greatest asset. Not in the sense Beryl means of selling them a bridge or a sheet of Christmas gift tags pretending to be valuable shares, but it is far easier to make friends than compel folk to do what one needs. Many of the earliest explorers of Africa and Asia went in with little more than the clothes they wore and a knack of getting along with people. Even Molly had to admit that the nineteenth century “Maxim-gun diplomacy” is rather expensive next to a kind word. A smile can get you further than a Maxim gun – though Molly points out our Tutors insist we always have a good Plan B.

    One wonders how folk such as Tatiana and Liberty Morgenstern would fare on their own. I can hardly blame them for absorbing their national politics but they should have learned by now not to go broadcasting it at full volume. Not unless they were somewhere folk were checking up on their dedication, anyway. Ioseph Starling is generally to be found near Red Square and Comrade Trotsky at Number Seventeen Pancho Villas, Mixteca City – two places it might actually be wise to go preaching to the converted. As far as Spontoon goes, I remember Tatiana’s revelation last year as she decided just why the Spontoonies were defying the Dialectic and not following what she believed was the natural progression to a Worker’s State – “they aren’t real workers, they’re Kulaks, every one of them.”  *

    As an interesting contrast, I have yet to hear Eva standing up and denouncing anybody. She has her Chancellor’s portrait on the dorm wall (behind thick Perspex since Liberty threw ink over the first one) but does not go about singing that Horst the Weasel song, though she certainly knows the words. Then, I do not stand up and sing “God save the King” here every morning myself as we did in Saint Winifred’s – which does not mean I have forgotten the tune or reject the sentiments. I have noticed various first-years coming to ask her about her homeland’s new politics and religion (actually the two are mixed in a surprising way) and she seems to answer them fairly and without pressing pamphlets on them, unlike Liberty. As her uncle reminisced of his trips deep into Tibet with the Ahenerbe, a medical pack full of new sulpha drugs may be expensive – but the arcane data you might get after winning the friendship of a High Lama by using it, may be beyond price.

    Out to Casino Island for our dance class; with many regrets Meera had to resign from the classes as she is now in the S.I.T.H.S. “Goddard Club” which has been contracted to supply record-breaking rockets for the Solstice celebrations. Fireworks, the official form says. She was top of her class in chemistry at Roedean, which is something the local school definitely want her for. It is a big contrast with how my brother described “stinks” at school – from his description the idea was to mix lots of coloured powders and acids together, and the worse it smelled the more successful the experiment. Having an existing and currently underused medium-scale fuel works by the airfield that supplied the custom mixes used by the Schneider Trophy racers is a big advantage. I imagine they will not be launching from the airfield though; somewhere like the tip of one of the big sand-spits on Main Island would be safer, with most of the rockets falling into the sea for hopeful recovery. Unlike aircraft, rockets do not make gentle landings! I imagine the Marleybone Hotel might object if one of their experiments arrived in the glasshouse suite without a reservation.

    Our own dance practice went very well, with the S.I.T.H.S. having responded to our challenge by getting in an Albert Islander for inspiration. Copying our Orpington Island style would be just trying to catch us up, and they evidently want to get in ahead of us. They found out they had chosen the wrong one to set against us though, as the pretty jungle cat was one of the grand-daughters of the old chief we met in Spring, and remembered us very fondly from our trip there rescuing the Sturdey brothers. She reminisced that even their bravest warriors had refused to do what we did and go after the Sturdeys in the taboo areas; being obliged to protect a guest was one thing, but nobody really wanted to save them. It would be nice but probably over-optimistic to think the Sturdeys have learned their lesson about managing people; “we are paying them” does not mean “we own them.” Well, not on Spontoon anyway; although we do hear disturbing things about what happens on Kuo Han.

    All in all, a very successful dance class. This time of year, nobody is running across the beach for a swim after the strenuous exercising, and the air in the showers attached to the Dance School was absolutely thick with musk. Molly suggested jokingly that Beryl ought to concentrate and bottle it – but the rest of us shushed her. Beryl does not need more ideas like that.

* Editor’s Note: Kulaks being the Russian peasants who were actually making a decent profit, owned or rented land and saw no good reason to collectivise the farms they had invested their lives in. Ioseph Starling realised that having contented Capitalist, land-owning Workers was a subtle and complex contradiction for the Revolutionary Dialectic, which he solved by the subtle method of confiscating all their crops and having most Kulaks starve to death. Problem solved, dialectic triumphant!


Sunday 17th November, 1936

One thing I can be certain about our dear Tutors is they are very good at surprising us. It was just about the false dawn this morning when Miss Blande and Miss Devinski arrived blowing whistles and ordering us to “fall out” for a kit inspection. It was raining, too. Happily we had taken great care with disposing of such things as empty pineapple brandy bottles, which are the sort of things I expect our Tutors are looking for.

    My own humble bivouac was unceremoniously shaken out and patted down by Miss Blande while I looked on standing at attention. Having passed muster, I was just about to roll it up for the day when Molly twitched her ears urgently and tossed me something hard in an oiled silk bag while both tutors were intently looking down Beryl’s dugout. I rolled it up securely in the bivouac bag just in time for them to emerge and go over Molly’s shelter as if they expected to find the Fire Gem tucked away in there.

    If anyone had anything incriminating discovered I did not notice it; Maria’s typewriter passed muster though Missy K lost a few marks as the Tutor noticed evidence of a charcoal fire (we are not allowed fires on this part of the course.) Then, a Songmark third-year should be good at concealment even though it is not on the printed prospectus. Our Tutors have never confiscated Molly’s subscription to “True Crimes” with its pull-out sections showing extremely practical advice on hiding and smuggling goods, though Molly always comments that we should never entirely trust their tips as Police and Customs certainly read the same articles.

    After a stressful start for a Sunday, breakfast was more than welcome. Breadfruit mash with coconut, very nice. Each dorm gets through about a gallon of it, with Missy K compensating for being the only dorm with three rather than four members (I never have understood that; it is not a matter of maximum numbers per year as unlike us the junior years all have five dorms of four apiece and any departures are made good rapidly.) Looking at the laden breakfast table rapidly empty, one can see why the Althing seem to like Songmark; almost everything we eat is bought locally and even the replacement uniforms are Spontoon-made of Ulàul cloth. Certainly, the money we all pay for Songmark fees stays quite close to Eastern Island. If Father Dominicus is wise he will follow suit.

    As arranged, Adele joined us and we headed out for a water-taxi to Main Island. This time we went somewhere we have hardly been to since Spring, the plantation areas on the North-East side where they have the land crabs. They also have towering totem poles with piled-up carvings of species one hardly associates with Polynesia; moose, beaver and musk-oxen rather than Komodo Dragon, bat or civet cat.

    Our contact awaiting in Chikloota Village was a coyote lady about ten years older than us, who introduced herself as Clear-Skies Yakan. She was in a bark cloth skirt rather than the Pandanus palm version, but her fur was combed in the recognisable priestess pattern. Saimmi was busy elsewhere this morning but had briefed her on us and Adele, including the true story of Adele’s parents.
 
    It is certainly a mixed party; Helen and myself as “Euros” who are taking up the local religion, Adele who is Euro but suffering from the effects of a similar tradition, Clear-Skies who is a native practicing it every day and Saffina who even the Spontoonies must admit rather stretches their definition of the term “Euro” except that her mother was one. Clear-Skies is a Spontoonie priestess with a different slant, which is why we were here rather than on South Island. According to tradition, the Amerindians are named after the first significant thing their Mother sees outdoors after the birth. It is just as well the idea has not gained popularity in England, or there would be a lot of people regretting being called Drizzling-Again-Dammit, Train-Broke-Down, Number-Fifteen-Tram or Battersea-Power-Station.
 
    Clear-Skies took us out to a shrine on a headland looking out over the beach where one of those big statues of the rain-goddess points a very precisely built bowl out to sea as if inviting the clouds to come and water the islands. Fortunately the clouds had already made their daily contribution, and the weather was quite nice as we sat respectfully by a large totem pole and Clear-Skies brought out her “medicine bag.” This was not the sort of first-aid kit we carry, although in spiritual terms it could have much the same effects. Saffina was nodding in recognition; her own religion in Ubangi-Chari makes much use of charms and “fetishes” as aids to concentration and reminders of rituals. Something like a religious cue-card, by all accounts.

    It was really quite interesting, though I doubt Adele made much sense of the morning. Then again, Susan de Ruiz made little sense of Adele never managing to drop a slice of toast butter-side up, in whatever double-blind test she could devise. We helped Clear-Skies with the full “commune Spirit” ritual without mentioning exactly what we wished to contact – and whatever was nearest (associated with Adele) should show up. I did not see anything, but apparently Clear-Skies did, as she was studying something intently just in Adele’s shadow.

    As Saimmi had thought, there is a definite curse on our classmate, and it is of Amerindian style. I know Maria can spot any Italian designed car or aircraft even if she has never seen one of that model before just by the design style, and this is a similar spotting by style rather than specification. Clear-Skies got a good look at it; it is laid on Adele “as long as she shall be on earth or water”, as ancient designs of curse did not consider aircraft. Well, we guessed that much from its effects. Actually getting rid of it might be rather troublesome; although she cannot be sure Clear-Skies got the definite impression of some ancient shaman putting everything he had into it. He or she might well have not lived to notice that it was Adele and not her parents that was actually hit by the curse.

    Adele is booked to come here for her future Sundays until we can fix her problem; the rest of us had to head back to meet Saimmi so she stayed on Main Island with Clear-Skies. It was surprising to discover we were not the first Songmark students to stay in the village recently; of all people Liberty Morgenstern spent some of the Summer with Clear-Skies’ aunt on their farm. Hopefully Adele will be better company for the Yakan family.

    A hasty luncheon in Main Village was followed by a trip back to South Island. Saimmi is a very busy girl these days, and we are just grateful she is still able to train us. As arranged we met on the South Fluke, where we had seen the Natives Of No Island – and we had quite a surprise when we met Gha’ta, the Warrior Priestess from Ponape.

    Gha’ta is a species of girl I have never seen on Spontoon before. I have seen amphibians of various types (Constable Brak is a regular sight on Eastern Island), but I had only seen Gha’ta’s kin in the carvings on the monoliths on Casino Island, the ones the missionaries tried to chisel off. She is green-skinned, but scaly like a fish rather than a frog despite her very froggy head. Having huge eyes on top of her head would make wearing Euro style hats rather difficult. It is very hard to tell how old she is without fur, but she was certainly a very energetic fish-frog and not at all like the aged last survivor of her tradition we had expected.

    It was quite a privilege, I must say. Sitting alongside Saimmi, learning with her some new techniques and rituals that have probably not been used here for centuries. Gha’ta assures us that the earliest Spontoonies would certainly have known them, as her own people have records going back much further than we would believe possible. The actual dates she gave I assume were a ritual exaggeration like saying “from time immemorial.”
 
    One thing I know already about being a Warrior Priestess, is it will be an exhausting job. In some ways it uses inner strength rather than sophistication; it s just as well we are all fit. As the mad scientists in all the pulp comics say in response to any problem, “Turn up the voltage!” All well and good, but we pay the power bills.

    I had been wondering what sort of accommodation Gha’ta had been given to fit her rank, but it seems the Althing will not be bothered by any strain on its hospitality budget. When we had finished, she waved her flipper (she would be hard-pressed to use a typewriter, or a bicycle for that matter) and waded back out into the Nimitz Sea. Presumably the Natives Of No Island are acting as hosts.

    While we rested up, I steeled myself to formally ask Saimmi if she would consider me suitable to be Tailfast again with Jirry next month. It is something I need to know, one way or another. She nodded, and motioned for me to relax – and when I noticed things again, the sun had sunk noticeably lower over Main Island. What Saimmi actually does is not hypnosis, at least not in the way Mr. Sabass proofs us against.

    Hurrah! Saimmi gave her consent, so in just over a month Jirry and I have a date on Sacred Island, along with Helen and Marti (and probably Prudence and Tahni, much to Helen’s discomfort.) Oddly enough, Missy K and her fiancé have never been Tailfast although they are both Spontoonie born and hardly of the “Euro” persuasion as are some native furs on Casino Island.
 
    Although we would have liked few things better than a proper meal with Mrs. Hoele’toemi, the sun was almost down by the time we hurried past Haio Beach and we had to head straight for the water-taxis. Ah well, no doubt Saimmi will spread the good news and we will have plenty of time on South Island in future.
 
    On our return to our bivouac at the Northern coast of Eastern Island, we found Molly and Beryl in an equally good mood. It seems their Sunday “religious” trip to the Temple of Continual Reward was more than usually rewarding; they have nailed down finance for developing their Adventure Rations. Molly was demonstrating a “fireless cooker” that goes with every can, and will not strictly speaking break the rules on our being forbidden fires on this stage of the course. She had a small flat can like a sardine-tin that she added three spoonfuls of water to (seawater will do, or even less drinkable fluids that one will never be short of) and it angrily hissed,  soon bringing a tin mug of camp coffee placed on top to piping heat. Although she has yet to work out the all-in-one meal, she says she has the money-spinning idea to make it palatable no matter where in the world an Adventurer might be.

    All well and good, but quicklime is nasty stuff and personally I do not like the idea of it leaking in my pocket or bursting in my cockpit. I just hope she can find a way of sealing it properly.

    Helen muttered that you could sentence Beryl to be hung and she would be selling tickets. Certainly she has a sharp eye for a profit. I remember back in Barchester there was a convent of nuns known as the Poor Clares – if Beryl ever joined a convent I expect it would be the Rich Clares, taking vows of eternal solvency and acquisition. She was speculating once that she ought to found a charity raising funds for the rich; they generally like money just as much as the poor, and she argues it is far better to have a millionaire than a peasant grateful to you.

    Having pulled off a successful deal did not persuade Molly to give her pineapple brandy away free or even at a discount; one forgets sometimes just how she was brought up and what paid for her Songmark course. A celebratory glass of pineapple brandy was cheap enough though (Beryl grumbles Molly has priced it too low to be worth under-cutting, what with the risks involved) and we all toasted our good fortune. Maria is rather left out, but she was happy enough for Helen and me.

    It was pitch dark when we got the brandy out; the idea of Miss Devinski watching us from the top of LONO hill with her big binoculars is never far from our minds. I must say, after the very wearing day and the relief of Saimmi giving me a clear pass, the one drink went right to my head. I had unrolled my bivouac bag when I felt the contraband Molly had passed to me first thing in the morning, and offered to return it. She smiled and whispered that she had a replacement already, as Lars has a new pair every year and it was only right that I should share the other half of the set with her.

    Rather mystified, I retired to my bivouac to investigate like a kitten reading under the sheets with a torch. I should have guessed from what Molly had said; Miss Devinski has such a “down” on Lars that the idea of Molly carrying one of his antlers as a keepsake would not go down at all well. I had better keep it safe till I can return it to Lars, or if I am Tailfast first return it via Molly. Tailfast necklaces of one’s own fur have definite binding rituals cast on them, which is why it is a disaster to lose one. If anyone got hold of one of Lars’ antlers, they could work quite a ritual using it! Part of one’s body, even shed pieces such as fur, are about the most affective binding ingredients possible. I can see why Molly wanted to keep it close to her.

    Of course, there could be other reasons for that. Molly is a practical girl and unlike in our dorms in Songmark, out here in the bivouacs we do have some privacy.



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